


Whose Soul Is Flat

by winter156



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 09:20:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12554268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter156/pseuds/winter156
Summary: Andy has always accepted Miranda’s invitations for more.





	Whose Soul Is Flat

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a few unconnected drabbles. I think I posted those drabbles on other sites years ago. But, I have connected them for this and kind of made it a short, short story. It probably still reads like a series of drabbles, but hopefully with some thread of connectivity.

“Andréa.”

The girl is before her desk in moments preceded by soft footsteps and a breathy _yes, Miranda_.

“You may take the rest of the night off.”

Brown eyes light up at the prospect of getting home early to her neglected boyfriend. The brunette nods and turns, she walks out with a spring in her step.

Miranda watches until her shadow disappears around the corner. In her more existential moments, she always assumes she’d be Sartre’s head valet coordinating others’ torture chambers. Instead, Miranda finds herself to be Inès pining after Estelle who has no desire for her. A disgusted sigh slips past her lips.

Miranda purses her lips in displeasure. Hell, indeed, is other people.

She resumes her work. It will be a long night.

* * *

Miranda calls Andy. It’s late. She doesn’t find enough reason to care.

“Miranda?” The speech isn’t slurred but Miranda can tell Andy isn’t exactly sober. She can hear the heavy thrum of music through the phone and assumes Andy is at a club.

“I need…” she pauses mid-sentence because she’s not sure why she called. She doesn’t complete her thought.

“Okay,” Andy elongates the last syllable but doesn’t ask for clarification.

The loud, insistent knocking half an hour later doesn’t surprise Miranda as much as it should.

She opens the door and Andy is standing on her doorstep looking young and vibrant with a six-pack of beer and a wide smile. Too wide and too bright to not be helped by alcohol.

Miranda steps back and allows Andy in. “You have a key,” she says, closing the door.

“Is this work related?” Andy’s smile is gone and she seems to hesitate for the first time.

Miranda doesn’t answer but leads them to the kitchen where she opens two beer bottles and puts the rest in the fridge.

“Why are you here?” She asks after the silence between them stretches uncomfortably.

“Because you called and said you needed…” Andy says slowly her hands moving with her words. She takes a long drag of her beer. “Because you called and sounded like you needed a friend,” she tries again, not looking at Miranda.

Miranda regards her, considering where she wants this to go. She sips the beer slowly. “Where is your boyfriend?”

Brown eyes flick to hers and stay. Andy licks her lips and her fingers fiddle with the neck of the bottle. “Nate’s gone.”

Miranda makes a noise in the back of her throat as she takes another sip of her beer.

They watch each other for several moments.

Miranda invites Andy into the living room.

* * *

Andy is delivering the book.

Miranda hears the key in the lock and the movement of the heavy door. Andy herself, though, moves silently; Miranda wonders if she’s taken her heels off to minimize any noise.

“Andréa.” Miranda knows she’s blurring the lines. Andy never stays when she uses her key, only when she knocks and Miranda allows her in.

“Yes, Miranda.” Andy stands at the threshold of Miranda’s study, book in hand, heels hanging from her fingers, feet bare.

Miranda extends her hand for the book. Their fingers brush in the exchange. Andy watches every movement but doesn’t pull back.

Miranda wets her lips and breathes heavily through her nose.

“Sit.” It’s not a question but also not a command. Andy can refuse the continued blurring of what they are to each other.

But Andy smiles all the way to her eyes, sets her shoes on the floor, and tucks her feet under her when she takes her usual seat.

Miranda sits next to her and disregards the warnings in the back of her mind.

* * *

Paris begins with a mess.

“I’m so sorry, Miranda.” Andy means it but Miranda doesn’t want pity. “What can I do?” The sincerity grates against Miranda’s nerves.

“Your job.” Miranda dismisses her.

Andy stops and looks at Miranda.

Miranda feels the gaze like a physical touch. She can’t read the intense emotion that flickers across Andy’s eyes.

Andy hesitates then nods and walks out.

Miranda sits in silence for several minutes before standing up, washing her face, and preparing for her night.

There’s no one there to witness the wooden, overly-careful movements. No one to witness the hollow expression and empty eyes.

No one.

* * *

Words are spilling from Andy’s mouth with frantic urgency, but all Miranda can focus on is the smell of sex and day old clothes.

Her stomach knots uncomfortably at the knowledge. She wrinkles her nose and sniffs in disapproval.

“Did you think I didn’t know?” She asks pointedly, accusingly, cutting off any other words from Andy’s mouth.

The question is vague enough to obscure what Miranda is really asking.

But Andy’s eyes cloud with guilt.

“Shower and change,” Miranda throws softly over her shoulder as she walks away.

* * *

Paris ends with a mess.

She calls only once. Miranda has to be sure that the empty place at her side means what she thinks it does. When her call goes directly to voicemail, she knows.

It’s not what Miranda wants or even what she’d envisioned, but at least it’s over. The torture of the last few months is finally ended.

The flight back to New York from Paris is interminably long. Nigel isn’t speaking to her and the empty seat beside her is a glaring accusation.

She closes her eyes imagines the crowded streets, the bright lights, the constant motion of her city.

But her mind keeps going back to brown eyes and bright smiles and soft words. Her throat tightens; her eyes burn.

Miranda won. She still holds her position and is more powerful now than she ever has been.

It doesn’t feel as good as she hoped.

* * *

The letter isn’t meant as a compliment. It’s statement of fact. Andy has been her greatest disappointment, but the girl has ambition and drive. The Mirror would be fools not to hire her.

Miranda hadn’t expected this turn of events based on it, however.

“Hi, Miranda.”

Andy fidgets under the prolonged silence. She looks ready to bolt at any provocation but her brown eyes also look determined. Miranda opens her front door wider and allows the young woman in without a word.

She imagines the thundering pulse at the juncture of Andy’s neck is due to nerves; Miranda’s is not.

“I’m sorry,” Andy says immediately after the door closes to the outside world.

Miranda doesn’t respond. She walks into the kitchen to finish making her coffee.

Andy follows.

She pours Andy a cup and prepares hers, too.

They drink in silence, not uncomfortable but full of things that need to be said.

“Sorry doesn’t change things. It doesn’t undo anything, it doesn’t fix anything.” Miranda’s eyes hold Andy’s.

“I know,” Andy whispers. She sighs and looks away before her eyes go back to a blue gaze. “But, it’s an acknowledgement of something I did wrong. Something I regret. Something that I won’t let happen again.” She pauses and swallows. “If you give me another chance,” she finishes on a whisper.

Miranda drinks her coffee slowly and watches Andy.

She’s different than the girl that walked into her office a year ago looking for a job. Miranda is different, too.

Maybe they can continue to change each other in better ways.

Miranda invites Andy to stay.

* * *

It happens easily without pomp and circumstance.

The shift is so innocuous at first that Miranda doesn’t notice.

It’s an accumulation of small things that bubble over in her heart.

Until Miranda can’t hold it in. She tries, desperately, to keep it moderated and at bay. But, it pushes on every square inch of her skin.

It enlarges exponentially as it expands out from the very center of her being. Miranda tries to subdue it, to compartmentalize it, to tuck it away in a dark corner of her soul. But it seeps through her and escapes through her eyes and her hands and her heart.

It shows in her smile and her touch.

She’s in love, and that’s terrifying and wonderful.

It would be embarrassing and unbecoming if Andy weren’t there with her, every step, every moment.

But they grow and change together.

Andy has always accepted Miranda’s invitations for more.

* * *

Miranda’s breathing is labored. Her hand covers her eyes in an attempt to block out reality for one more moment; she wants to hold onto the euphoria for as long as possible. She can still see stars on the back of her eyelids and she can still hear the roar of her blood pounding in her ears.

She feels the tentative touch of hands pull her close until she’s spooned firmly against a warm body. Miranda allows the shift in position because it makes her heart beat in a different type of rush. With strong arms around her, she feels protected and loved.

“In my pettiest moments,” Miranda can feel warm breath on her ear, “back in the early days when I worked for you, I used to pray that something bad would happen to you...”

Miranda turns and kisses Andy’s lips quiet.

“It’s good no one listened.”


End file.
